


Confessions

by tuhis



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/M, Heavensward Spoilers, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6416599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuhis/pseuds/tuhis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of my FFXIV drabbles. </p><p>Table of contents in first chapter, each chapter will have appropriate warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

> Please assume each and every drabble to contain spoilers for Heavensward (3.0).
> 
> As work description suggests, these drabbles could each probably fit in this "Notes" box.  
> I am still quite insecure about my writing, and English isn't my first language. Ah well. Many thanks to the friends (you all know who you are) for convincing me maybe these are worth keeping online anyway.

**1: Table of contents** (you are here)

 **2: Pieces** (no shipping, Edmont, Aymeric, hurt and comfort, angst and feels, mentions of violence)

 **3: Take It Off** (Fem!WoL/Haurchefant, light femdom/clothing kink, happy fun times)

 **4: Holiest of Holy** (Adelphel/Janlenoux, petting through clothes, mild to moderate religious guilt)

 **5: Secrets in the Twilight** (general with an Adelphel/Janlenoux overtone, contains Grinnaux)

 **6: No Good Dravanians** (Aymeric/dragon dildo with Estinien/Aymeric pre-established. Masturbation, heresy.)

 **7: Knight the Coeurl** (3.3 spoilers! Aymeric, Handeloup, Lucia, no romantic or sexual content, passing mention of wounds/injuries)

 **8: Twelve degrees warm** (AU based; Charibert, Ignasse. general within the drabble's frame.)


	2. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the voids in our lives turn us into puzzle pieces that oddly fit together.
> 
> Spoilers for 3.0 (the Vault). Contains mentions of violence. Hurt and comfort.

 

“Aymeric?”

The count knocked on the guest bedroom’s door before cracking it open and entering. “Is everything alright? I heard a rather distressing sound coming from this way.”  
Aymeric was sitting up in the bed, clutching the blanket with one hand, rubbing at his forehead with the other. “Yes, lord Fortemps- I am alright. Merely plagued by vivid night terrors. My most sincere apologies for disturbing. I certainly didn’t intend to wake anyone.” _Least of all you_ , he added mentally. _You were generous enough to let me stay the night, after the blizzard hit far earlier than predicted._

“Do not worry of me, Aymeric, sleep evades me for entirely different reasons.” Edmont walked to Aymeric’s bedside. “Pray tell me if I can in any way ease your being.”  
Aymeric shook his head slightly. “Please pay me no mind, my Lord…“

Edmont held the lantern up to get a better look at Aymeric. Aymeric’s linen night shirt was wet and heavy with sweat, and black strands of hair stuck to his forehead and hollow cheeks. He was struggling to keep his expression calm and befitting of the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights; but the bright eyes told no lies, those were the eyes of a boy who’s never been held safe from night terrors, desperate for solace. They widened further when Edmont sat on the bed’s edge.

“Based on experience having raised three sons, I dare say your eyes tell a different story.” He put the lantern down and set his hand on Aymeric’s shoulder. “Tell me what haunts you.” Aymeric swallowed hard, lips trembling. Edmont looked him in the eye with gentleness and softness that Aymeric couldn’t put a name on, nor did he feel deserving of. But the count seemed serious about listening.

“It’s the Vault that I dream of, over and over again”, Aymeric began. The words didn’t come easily, and he had to fight to keep the sobs down his throat. “I close my eyes and they’ve come for me again, the Heaven’s Ward. They mock me, threaten me, they have the knives ready, I refuse to speak like I did then, and they carve the words into my skin again…”

Edmont hadn’t seen Aymeric’s superficial injuries firsthand, as the young man had become even more mindful of privacy after the Vault’s events. Aymeric still wore a bandage on his forehead, though enough time had passed for even stubborn flesh to knit back together. And when curiosity- or simply the want to understand- got the better of Edmont, he had discreetly queried Lucia about Aymeric’s state of well-being, and learnt in confidence that Aymeric had been scarred with slurs and insults towards birth and faith.

“…And they demand I speak, tell the names of whom I’ve told the truth to, but I don’t…” Aymeric’s eyes momentarily rose to meet Edmont’s, then dropped again.  
“It used to end there, Estinien breaking the lock and coming to my rescue, but… Now that he’s no more, he no more comes. And so they… So intent to get the names out of me, they carve out my tongue. And when I no longer control it, it speaks to them, it tells them everyone’s names and I can only watch and listen… it was when they left for you that I woke up.” Aymeric bit his lip, looking down at his hands, clutching the blanket’s edge as if holding on to dear life.   
“They would’ve come for you, your family, the entire House Fortemps if I spoke… I couldn’t bear the thought of…” His voice wavered and weakened. “Of… Haurchefant…”

_Haurchefant._ At the mention of his late son’s name, Edmont realized just why did Aymeric’s tormented eyes seem so familiar. The same tormented, fever-brightened eyes had stared at him two decades ago, through a sweaty mess of silver hair. The boy had been bedridden with high fever for nearly three weeks in the throes of chocopox. And even if the usually independent and outgoing boy had managed to get out of bed on his own accord, the countess would’ve still kept his door locked and the disease away from her sons.  
Edmont had taken care of the boy as he best could, but his wife would look at it with disdain. Don’t waste time or effort on _that,_ she’d say, and he had lied to himself, that battling the illness on his own would build the boy’s character. But he’d taken one look back before closing the door- and that begging gaze didn’t drop off him even when there were several walls in between.

_My dear, it was something you were always headstrong about,_ Edmont’s thoughts addressed his late wife. _But I would disagree, and tonight, nothing can keep me from comforting my suffering boy._  
Edmont pulled Aymeric close, and the young man buried his face in the count’s housecoat’s collar and allowed his tears to soak the fabric.  
“You are among the bravest men I know, Aymeric“, Edmont began, taking a moment to carefully choose his next words. “You have protected me and mine with your silence. Allow me to protect you from whatever would come for you tonight.”

Aymeric could not speak in between helpless sobs, but the way he clutched Edmont’s sleeve tighter said _please do._

And somewhere in the depths of the churning Lifestream, a silver-haired boy knew comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record- I wrote a first draft of this in August 2015, before patch 3.1. happened, in the comment field of the drawing displayed at the end if the work. Returned to edit it later.


	3. Take It Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What of _anything_ would you desire of me first?"
> 
> WoL makes Haurchefant uphold a promise. Written in first-person WoL, race has been left ambiguous (and the gender kind of too, as pronouns aren't used, but... a male WoL would require quite some imagination here.)

 

As soon as I regain my balance and footing in the snow, having just materialized by the aetheryte in Camp Dragonhead, I make for the keep. I try my best to ignore the biting cold, I’m coming directly from Thanalan and my attire is everything but suitable for the post-Calamity Coerthan climate. Once inside, I head for the stairs and a knight calls out, he’s in his chambers, making no motion to stop me. I don’t need to be told where he is, I already know, and after how absolutely and thoroughly frustrating the entire week away had been, I plan to make him keep a promise.

After all, Haurchefant seemed just the type who’d promise _your word is my command, my lady, anytime_ with a theatrical bow and a kiss to my hand, and actually expect to have to uphold it.

I knock on his door, he asks who’s knocking, and I reply with _the inquisition is here, I’ve come for you, heretic,_ trying to keep my voice honeyed while loud enough for him to hear me through the door. He unbolts it and cracks it open, but doesn’t appear in the doorway. He’s expecting me, I know, and I suspect he is indecent and doesn’t want to chance anyone steal an unsuspecting glance.  
Not like all of Dragonhead didn’t know to expect it of Haurchefant.

I enter, see he’s backed off a few paces but against all suspicions still decent, and I turn to close and bolt the door before regarding him again. I feel a hot flush rising on my cheeks, from having come from cold to warm at a brisk pace. Well, maybe there’s a part of what I plan making him do. I unbuckle and kick aside my extremely unpractical and slippery heeled shoes, and close the distance between us.

“What brings my fair lady to this cold corner of the land today?” He bows, takes my hand and drops on one knee to kiss me on each finger.  
“A simple desire to have you uphold a certain promise.”  
“But absolutely, my lady!” he exclaimed, the delight on his face turning to a sweet act of coyness and innocence. “What of _anything_ would you desire of me first?”  
My own smile is sly as I work command into my tone. “Take off my dress.”

Carefully, he reaches for the lacing, undoes the ribbon with slightly shaking hands, slowly loosens it. The fine Ul'dahn silk slips down and pools on the floor, and Haurchefant carefully gathers and folds it, before placing it on a chair as gently as he would have handled a lost baby rabbit. He turns to face me, batting his eyelashes and blushing sweetly at what the dress revealed underneath.

“My stockings.”  
He keeps his eyes on mine as he bends down, then focuses on carefully detaching the lacy top of my left stocking from the garter, and rolls it down. His touch is feather-light, brushing against the skin beneath as he takes extreme care not to tear the garment. Once it’s off, he straightens it slowly and with utmost care, folds it, and places it to accompany the dress. He goes through similar motions with the right stocking, and he runs his tongue over his lower lip as the stocking joins its pair on the chair. His breathing is about as heavy as mine, though he isn’t nearly as red in the face as I know I am- assuming command  is something that never came too naturally for me. And he is excited, now that I have started this, I must bring it to an end.

“Next, I would that you… take off my corselet.”  
He runs his hands slowly up and down the slippery satin, as if worshipping both the garment and the flesh beneath, before going for the hooks and eyes that go down the front. This certainly isn’t my everyday underwear, something only worn to impress in the bedroom- even if I would often try and impress just myself, enjoying the luxurious feel. Haurchefant appears sufficiently impressed. When the corselet is off, he holds it up and examines its structure meticulously. I can’t help but smile as I watch him sate his curiosity, and eventually he figures out it’s best left unfolded, and lays it carefully onto the dress and stockings.

He bows his head and bites his lip shyly, hands clasped together in front of him as he looks at me. Awaiting my orders, with only one lacy piece of clothing remaining. It takes a moment to gather myself enough to word the request, a command for him, and he is patient, if tilting his head slightly from one side to another.  
“Take… my panties off.”

His hands seem to shake just slightly as he slowly, so slowly, hooks his thumbs under the waistband, carefully placing his hands on both sides of the hips, as far away from accidental, suggestive brushes to erogenous zones as he can. He never once takes his eyes off mine as he works his way slowly downwards, his eyes only leaving for the detached garment as it’s time to place it ever so lovingly onto the pile of previously discarded lingerie. And it’s my eyes that his gaze returns to once he turns back to me, lower lip firmly between his teeth, blush all the way to the tips of his ears- his act is just far too good.

Or perhaps he’s anxious to know what I plan to tell him next. I close my eyes as I inhale deep and exhale slowly, needing, just needing to stay coherent and at least somewhat in character for my last line. When clothes are shed, come the most dangerous promises.

“Haurchefant… if I catch you wearing my lingerie again, I’ll slap a collar and chain on you and parade you around the ramparts, and that is a promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a joke. :D


	4. Holiest of Holy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What is this mercy you show, brother?”
> 
> Mayhap the most mature-rated chapter so far, contains heavy petting through clothes and mild to moderate religious guilt.

_ Thud. _

 

Janlenoux wakes with a start. The dream had been vivid, and ended with a falling dragon’s tail to his chest. A fate that would have been a painful reality the past day, had it not been for Adelphel shouting a warning and charging with what in hindsight felt like  _ inhuman  _ speed to knock him out of the way. 

 

But now it’s dark, and he’s in the safety of his tent with the intent to rest and nurse his wounds. His head aches dully, bandages over his right eye- whether or not he would keep his sight was in the Fury's hands now- but used to the darkness, one eye is enough to spy what exactly had come flailing at his chest. 

 

The warm weight is an arm, that is still- gladly, after a very close call- attached to a sleeping Ser Adelphel. The blonde knight’s brow is furrowed, and at first Janlenoux thinks he snores quietly, but after a while realizes the sound on each breath is a whimper-ish moan. For a moment he assumes Adelphel is having nightmares, and by instinct reaches to pull him closer.

 

Adelphel's reaction is to whine needily and clutch onto Janlenoux, not just with his arm but a leg as well- and Janlenoux freezes. Adelphel is  _ rock hard  _ against his hip, and with each breath and quiet whimper, he tilts his hips a bit. Just an ilm, forward and then back, leaving Janlenoux no doubt about the movement’s nature.

They have shared a tent for several moons’ worth of missions due to orders, sharing body heat had come soon after out of necessity, and as more and more close calls had left them lucky to have held on to their lives, want of comfort and closeness had brought them to embrace and share worries and wishes. But  _ this _ \- Janlenoux knew exactly  _ how _ needy a man can be after several moons of repressing one's desires with prayer and lack of privacy, but would Adelphel allow his flesh to betray him right  _ against _ his brother?

He nudges Adelphel's shoulder with the hand he'd pulled him close.

 

“Adelphel…  wake up, Adelphel.“

“Nnn…?” Adelphel rouses, nosing at Janlenoux’s shoulder and neck. A shiver shoots down Janlenoux's spine as Adelphel exhales a quiet “what is it…”, warm and humid against his skin. 

“You're…” he gestures downward with a nod and his hand. Adelphel's drowsy gaze follows the motion to the warm darkness between them. 

“Oh..” Adelphel's eyes slowly open wide as he looks back to Janlenoux. “I am sorry…” he whispers as he begins to pull away, eyes bright with an emotion Janlenoux couldn't quite read, a mixture of amazement and perhaps fear. “Fury forbid, should I have stained you with mine sinful thoughts that I no longer can control…”

 

Adelphel,  _ sinful?  _ For all Janlenoux could ever have thought of his brother knight upon looking at him was  _ holiest of holy _ . He had thought the opposite, being of far lower birth he felt it was him who stained Adelphel's purity by just looking his way, not to speak of what touching did. He shakes his head and tightens his one-armed hold of Adelphel, preventing him from pulling away and turning around. The blonde gasps sharply in surprise. 

 

“Adelphel… no, please, stay. There is nothing in you that could possibly bring me lower than where I am beside you. Nay, I rather would…” he pauses to swallow and regather himself while assessing the still frightened look in Adelphel's wide eyes. 

“I would rather bear the burden of your sins so you may walk untroubled.”

“You would… “ Adelphel whispers in a shaky breath, now pushing his arm back over Janlenoux the distance he had withdrawn, and Janlenoux feels him tremble. “Fury alone as our witness” he gasps, pressing his chest and face closer to Janlenoux’s, breath warming his lips.

Janlenoux slides his hand down from Adelphel's shoulder, caressing his side and stomach, then stopping on the side of his hip and for several moments, the two knights are certain their heartbeats shake the very ground underneath them, deafening. 

 

“Mine holiest of holy,” Janlenoux whispers as his hand dips between their bodies and lays flat over the throbbing heat under Adelphel's light pants. 

Adelphel almost, almost moans out loud as he thrusts against Janlenoux's hand, but silences himself by pressing his lips to Janlenoux's.

 

Janlenoux keeps still, allowing Adelphel to grind against his hand. Adelphel's mouth is wonderfully soft, his lips taste salty and breath of the bitter herbal concoction he uses as mouthwash. Right now it is all wonderful; Janlenoux feels intoxicated by the sheer fact that it's Adelphel's mouth on his, softly mapping it out with his lips, it's all soft lips and hot breath and none biting or the obscenity of tongue. He loses track of everything around them, how long it lasts, all he wants is for Adelphel to stay close and not let go.

Adelphel doesn't; he, too, cannot want anything else but the warmth of Janlenoux's body and soul right against him. His heart wants to scream out, having had his sinful hidden desires betrayed by his very flesh to his brother, in such an intimate manner, and yet Janlenoux holds his arms wider open for him, pulls him closer to his heart, willing to ease his burden- to stain his hands in giving him relief. 

 

It's not Janlenoux's hand that pushes Adelphel to climax, but the overwhelming sensation of mercy and adoration Janlenoux shows by holding his hand right where it is, and what Adelphel feels towards him in return. A long, nasal whine escapes him as he spills a hot, sticky mess in his pants, and Janlenoux tries to muffle him by pressing his mouth harder against his.

 

They part their mouths and Janlenoux moves his hand back to Adelphel's hip. They lie listening to their heavy breathing and agitated heartbeats, and as they find nothing but silence beneath, they deem their deed has gone unnoticed by mortal souls and Fury alone has been their witness. As their bodies calm, questions fill their minds and they meekly begin to search for answers in each other's eyes. Neither one lets go, which they find reassuring. But it's the day after that is uncertain, and more so the night that follows. 

 

“What is this mercy you show, brother?” Adelphel breaks the silence between them. “Where mine sin should disgust and repel you, you embrace me instead.”

Janlenoux's response is to slide the hand on Adelphel's hip back up his side and to his back, embracing him even closer. 

“I cannot explain,” Janlenoux answers, “but it feels the right thing to do. I have come to hold you as dear as my own flesh and blood, to see your burdens as mine to bear. I believe I  _ love you,  _ Adelphel.”

Adelphel's eyes shine with joy, and a shiver runs through him and his lips tremble, mirroring Janlenoux's confession. 

“Is it truly a sin to so show that to you?”

 

“As do I love you, Janlenoux… but would you have done as you did, if I told it was you that mine flesh so craved that it came to betray me? That it was you in my dream ‘fore you woke me?”

Adelphel's whisper wavers with the same uncertainty that's bright in his eyes.

Janlenoux erases it with a soft brushing of lips against Adelphel's mouth.

 

“I would have done it even more gladly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fill for ff14 kink meme, "Adelphel/Janlenoux, fluffy first timers". It's largely this piece that gave this drabble collection a title.


	5. Secrets in the Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adelphel gets caught sneaking, strict talk ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a sequel to DeiXIV's piece "Secrets in the Dark" ( http://archiveofourown.org/works/6935545 ).

Adelphel roused from sleep as he felt uncomfortably warm. The perpetually chilly air everywhere in Ishgard- including the barracks and the Ward’s quarters- contributed to sound sleep, but Adelphel was nigh sweating. As he attempted to move, his skin stuck to the source of warmth that smelled far more pleasant than his bedlinens-

-oh yes, it came back to him, he had fallen asleep in Janlenoux’s bed. After they had… his mouth turned to a smile as the ghost of an ache in his hips reminded him of the moment of intimacy they had stolen in secret. 

He looked around and saw the room in dark bluish shades; it was not quite dawn, rather the hour of twilight. None of their brothers had yet stirred, and as much as he wished to stay beside his soundly sleeping lover,  Adelphel deemed it safest to try and climb back to his own bed. He gave Janlenoux a small peck on the cheek, and proceeded to fish his discarded smallclothes from the tangle of blanket and leg. He shimmied them back up his legs, placed the blanket carefully over Janlenoux, and crawled for the steps. One step, then another, he was careful not to knock his feet on them and avoided the squeaky parts as he best could, only his feet brushing against the planks in a manner that barely reached his own ears in the quiet-

- _ far, far too quiet.  _

Adelphel’s stomach sank. He froze halfway on the steps, and turned slowly around to see the white gleam of teeth. Ser Grinnaux laid in his bed, lounging on his side very much awake, a shit-eating grin on his face.  _ Caught. _

Adelphel continued the rest of the steps down slowly, swallowing hard, not daring to let the bull out from his field of vision. Once he reached the floor, Grinnaux beckoned him with a wave of his finger, and various scenarios of just  _ how _ bad things this spelled for him and Janlenoux flashed through his mind. Ser Grinnaux wasn’t particularly known for showing mercy, but… oh,  _ Fury forbid, should he or anyone under his influence break as much as a single hair off Janlenoux’s head for this _ ... 

Adelphel braced himself before taking a tentative step towards the other bunk bed- and barely kept his footing as the sting in his hip threw him off balance. His gaze briefly brushed over the lower bed in the bunk, and he registered it was undisturbed. Grinnaux snorted.

“Tch. Can’t even walk straight. I’d like to hear you try and sell me your story of what nightmare or freezing spell you had last night.” He spoke in whisper, and Adelphel frowned searching for both words and composure needed not to raise his voice and awaken the entire order.

“‘Tis none of your business, Ser Grinnaux.”

“Hmph. It actually very much is my  _ business _ .” Grinnaux sounded dangerously gleeful. He reached out- gods, Adelphel had forgotten the insane  _ reach _ the brawny Duskwight had- and grasped Adelphel by the nape, pulling him another step and a half in and then holding him still, threading fingers in the strawberry blonde locks instead. 

“See, if it is as your walking implies and you are taking it up in the butt from the blue Brume boy, good ser Haumeric owes me fifty gil.”

Adelphel’s eyes flew wide. “You  _ bet on-  _ how did you- _ ” _

Grinnaux hushed him. “These things don’t go unnoticed, pretty boy, and you aren’t being as stealthy as you think. Pretty much  _ everyone _ here was certain you two are doing it, just from the way you  _ look _ at each other when training. Now, come here and listen, if you’re intent on keeping a spotless reputation and that head on your shoulders.” The wide grin faded to a more serious expression.

“I’ll give you this as thanks for helping me win the bet. The only ones you wanna keep it completely hush-hush from are the top three- though Zephirin could be _ convinced to turn a blind eye if sufficiently intimidated by someone bigger _ . With proper incentive to do so, of course.” Grinnaux smirked, and Adelphel frowned. “Chari or Vell gets you, tough luck, two free seats in the Ward. Caught climbing the bunk, and you’re having such a vivid dream fighting a dragon, you fell off the bed. And for the love of Halone, stop holding hands every time you sit down in between sparring matches.”

An arm coiled around the elbow Grinnaux was supporting himself on, and the duskwight shifted just enough for Adelphel to catch a glimpse of Paulecrain’s half-asleep form tucked in between his master and the wall. “Hide your armor, make your bed, and you’re both the first and the last to get up,” Grinnaux continued. “And lastly, you and I never had this talk.”

Adelphel nodded as well as he could with Grinnaux’s hand still holding him by the head. He tried to take a step back and towards his own bed, but Grinnaux held onto him, leant forward over the edge, and gave Adelphel a smooch on the cheek. Then he released him, and Adelphel stumbled backwards towards his own bed, wiping the wet mark on his face.

“Keep that Janlenoux fellow on the safe side, too, I like the way you work together. And how sickeningly adorable you are. Sleep well.” Grinnaux rolled back to face his own bed-warmer, and Adelphel slipped quietly under his own blanket. It was only after he heard the beast begin snoring again when his racing heart began to calm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to sink with this ship and I don't want your lifesaver.


	6. No Good Dravanians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word on the street is, a mysterious trader only known as “Bad Dravanian” has been selling high-quality replica dragon dicks for personal use. A heretic's confiscated contraband is brought to Ser Aymeric, whose interest is piqued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fill to a prompt @ the kink meme.  
> This is a very mature-rated chapter, and I'm not sure if I should just rate it explicit and hit the switch for the entire work.  
> While the focus is on Aymeric and a dragon dildo, the setting involves a pre-estableshed Estinien/Aymeric.

” _Bad_ Dravanian?” Estinien snorted. ”I can’t think of any _good_ Dravanians that would justify that distinguishment.”  
  
”That is the name the manufacturer of these calls themself, yes,” replied the knight who had brought the box of most curious contraband to Aymeric’s office.  
  
”And do we know aught else?” Aymeric leant back in his chair, hands joined in his lap as always when he sank into thought.  
  
”Regrettably not, Lord Commander. The name is all the inquisitors have managed to pry of the heretic in whose possessions these were found. Truthfully, Lord Commander, the particular individual is causing so much of a headache to the inquisitors, it is as if he was seeking to be captured…”  
  
Estinien let out a dirty laugh, gesturing at the peculiar box on the table. ”Apparently his own  torture devices were not enough for him anymore. Though those would make a great addition to the inquisitors’ toolbox.”  
  
The look in the knight’s eyes was of great discomfort, as much as it could be seen through the slit of his helmet. ”Apologies, Lord Commander, but I would rather not be in the presence of- _these-_ any longer.”  
  
”Very well, dismissed.” Aymeric waved a hand, and the knight sighed in obvious relief. ”I will see these to… an appropriate destination.” He leant forward slightly, to get a better look at the contents of the box.  
  
It was an assortment of sculpted models of dragon genitalia. Aymeric did not know how anatomically accurate they were, but whoever had made these had obviously paid a great deal of attention to detail. What he knew to vary in accuracy was the colors. While some hues of gray and black seemed plausible, several were in colors so prismatically bright, he suspected that the most skilled of Ul'dahn weavers would struggle to give Thavnairian silk such saturated hues.  
He reached into the box and picked up one of the more… natural looking ones. He couldn’t name the material it consisted of; it was smooth to the touch, soft and supple when bent or squeezed, but held its form and detail. _A lot like his own flesh-_  
  
He was snapped back to reality when Estinien cleared his throat, and he realized his face felt rather warm.  
”Lord Commander should maybe dispose of those before his heretical thoughts become actions,” Estinien said in his usual gruff tone and Aymeric put the specimen he’d examined more closely back to the box, giving Estinien a sideways glare. As much as he hated admitting it, the dragoon was right. Even thinking of such an act was an offense against his faith, and he would have to resist the temptation. Nevertheless, his curiosity had been piqued, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to wipe the sculptures out of his mind with holy light.  
”I would deliver these to Halonic scholars, for the make and substance may give us clues to who this ‘Bad Dravanian’ is. We want this heretic rooted out from amongst our midst, do we not?” Estinien nodded, but as his helmet’s visor was down, Aymeric could not tell its exact tone. He put the lid back over the box, stood up and picked up the box, and the two left the office.

Shortly after exiting the Congregation, Estinien mumbled something about having things to attend to, and went his own way. Aymeric was left alone with the burning temptation in his arms, but nevertheless attempted to keep his cool as he walked towards his destination.  
He made it two thirds of the way when he could not resist anymore. He ducked into a darker alleyway, between storage crates in the snow. He opened the box, quickly pulled out the one he had been examining back in his office, tucked it into an inside pocket of his cloak, and closed the box. The scholars would be shocked enough to see what the box contained in the first place, and Aymeric suspected nobody had bothered to precisely count the contraband.  
  
Aymeric withdrew to his quarters at the usual hour, however he did not quite plan to sleep. He locked the door carefully behind him, closed and barred his window shutters, and shed his outer garments. He draped his cloak over a chair and sat on his bed facing it. Slowly, he pulled the object of his curiosity out of the cloak pocket, and held it up for closer examination in the dim candlelight. Every bump and ridge seemed emphasized by the light, and Aymeric brushed a finger over each and every one. In size it was not notably larger than what Aymeric knew he himself had, mayhap an ilm and a half more length, but tip was pointy and the texture… unlike anything Aymeric could’ve imagined. The sculptor had given it the feel of small scaley ridges, and Aymeric suspected those would feel quite wonderful.

He gasped and nigh dropped the toy when he realized his cock agreed with the ’ _feel quite wonderful_ ’ sentiment. Guilt washed over him, and he let go of the toy, joined his hands and bowed his head to rest on them as he muttered out a prayer. ”Fury, forgive me… This sin tempts me, and mine thoughts are pulled to side with it, pray guide mine hands to do the right thing and deliver me…”  
And when his brain could finally work through the signals his nerves were sending, he realized the toy had simply fallen onto his thighs and its tip rested against where his cock slowly but surely hardened beneath his trousers, he let out a desperate, vocal sob. This was opposite the guidance he had prayed for. Hands trembling, he slowly picked the toy up again.  
  
”Halone, forgive me…”  
He leant back on his bed. He didn’t dare place the toy back where it had been a moment ago, instead rested it on his stomach while trying to assemble his thoughts to something coherent. So fully aware of how sinful the act he wanted to commit was, how sinful even _thinking about wanting it_ was, yet this was a mere inanimate object and neither his mind nor body would give him peace until this curiosity was sated. If this was a mere inanimate object, and he could detach himself from the heretical connotations its appearance had, would this really hurt anyone or anything?  
  
He tugged the hem of his shirt up just enough for the toy to touch bare skin, holding it steady with one hand. With every breath he took, the toy’s tip drew a small ccircle on his abdomen, and he found it difficult to stay calm. He was fully hard, and it seemed as if his cock attempted to reach for the toy, as fas as it could under the constraint of soft fabric. Exhaling slowly, he rested the toy across his stomach, shuddering as he let his hands go of it, and raised his hips to pull off the pants. He rested a hand on the toy to keep it from rolling down as he kicked the garment off, and laid fully back down.  
  
As he lifted the toy by the base to brush the tip down his abdomen, he was shaking with a mixture of uncertainty and guilt, if not outright fear- and curious excitement. He spread his knees and carefully touched the toy to his hips, circling around his now aching and nigh dripping erection.   _It is just a toy, just inanimate, just the shape of a penis,_ he thought to himself. _There is nothing to be feared. It’ll be less climactic than crossing lances with Estinien,_ he told himself as he finally summoned the courage to touch the toy to his cock.  
  
And the vivid imagery filled his mind.  
  
As much as he tried to summon anything else to his mind- himself back to the room with a mere toy in hand, or even the presence of Estinien, of lord Haurchefant, of his second-in-command, anyone with whom an act like this would just _not_ count as heresy- he could only visualize the form of a dragon over him, tough scale and rippling muscle and steaming breath, so low down and close that the swollen member hanging between its hindlegs brushed against Aymeric’s own. He let out an audible shout and raised his hips to meet the creature. His plans to be slow and careful were thrown out of the window as he held the toy with both hands and rutted against it. It did not matter whether it brushed over the entire length of his cock and balls, whether it slipped onto his stomach, oh _Fury forgive_ down between his buttocks where it teased his entrance. Whatever sense he had left only reminded him that he was only slick with sweat and his own precum, and did not possibly have enough oil at hand to ease anything this big inside him- even if the toy was not of notable size in comparison to what his imagination brought before him.  
He imagined himself pinned to the bed by strong clawed forelegs, his head trapped in the beast’s jaws, long slobbery tongue caressing his face. When it demanded entry to Aymeric’s mouth for a most vulgar kiss, he came.  
  
And then his imagination let go and he was back in his bed, sweaty and panting, a sticky mess over the front of his shirt, and a dragon dick shaped toy in hand. Some of the sheen on his face might have been tears. A desperate prayer formed on his lips, and it came out in whisper as he came down from his high and back to the harsh reality and heavy guilt.  
  
He cracked his eyes open- and bolted upright in shock as the chair beside his bed was occupied. He let go of the toy, grasping at blankets to try and cover his groin, eyes wide in panic as he tried to make sense of what his eyes took in and figure out who it was watching him.  
The low, rumbly chuckle his ears then registered could only be Estinien’s, and he relaxed just slightly. As his heart rate calmed below alarming, he noticed how the candle’s light framed Estinien’s body,  how he had armor on and his helmet’s visor down, and he was holding a vial of thick, opaque white liquid between his fingers.  
  
”Turns out this 'Bad Dravanian’ not only imitates the anatomy, but the seed as well,” he murmured, and Aymeric could just see he was grinning. ”Claim is, makes for far easier insertion than mere oils. Now then, my little _good Dravanian_ ,” his grin widened so that Aymeric saw light glimmer on his teeth, ”shall I take you directly to the confessional, or would you rather wrestle a round with a _bad dragoon_ first? And before you get any ideas, I have no intention to actually let the inquisition have you.”  
  
Aymeric smiled as he sank back to the bed as Estinien grabbed the toy and uncorked the vial. The night wasn’t even close to being over.


	7. Knight the Coeurl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aymeric receives a linkpearl call from Handeloup early one workday morning, and a rollercoaster ensues.

Theirs was supposed to be a flawless plan.

The manor was simple in decor and did not have much in terms of resellable, potentially distracting valuables, and the ever loyal servants were aging and would not prove much sport, should they try and obstruct their plan. The front entrance was guarded, but one could scale the wall a couple buildings away with moderate ease and then sneak across rooftops, concealed in the shadows cast by the marvels of Ishgardian architecture. Enter through a window they had earlier confirmed to have a latch that didn’t quite close. 

Sneak through the room, across the hallway, swiftly end the sleeping Aymeric de Borel’s life, be gone as quickly and silently they had entered, and revert the heretical avalanche of reform that had swept over Ishgard.

 

They were pleased to find out the carpet was quite soft, and concealed their footsteps well. The door squeaked slightly, and they paused in their tracks to listen if anything disrupted the silence. They had not been this far inside, and none of the doors looked like the master bedroom’s- yes, it was one story downward. They made for the staircase, when the uncanny feeling of  _ being watched  _ crept in.

They paused, looked around. No movement whatsoever, no sound, no light… no, were those eyes? Bright yellow eyes, in a dark corner above a cabinet.

 

They barely had time to process that no spoken race could fit in such a small nook, when a demonic flurry of claw and tooth flew in their faces with a blood-curdling screech.

 

\---

 

Aymeric was at his desk, preparing mentally for the day’s work and assessing a pile of documents, when a linkpearl call interrupted his thought. Precious few people had contact access to his personal linkpearl, and his initial disgruntlement at the interruption faded as he heard Handeloup’s voice- the second commander trying very hard to hide amusement in his voice.

“Handeloup- pray do share what you find so amusing this early in the morn and important enough to call me over, my friend.”

“Aymeric, my friend, do forgive me for being so overly amused over such a serious matter, but- did you by any chance sleep at home, in the manor, last night?”

_ Oh, he wishes to berate me for sleeping in the office again. Well, not like he does not do it constantly, and I’ll get back at him.  _ “I wish. I had sat down on the couch in my office with the latest  _ Mythril Eye _ in hand, hoping to better be aware of our allied nations’ present status… and lo, it was morning light and the paper had served as my blanket. Why does this concern you?”

Handeloup contained his amusement and straightened his tone. “This has to do with the attempt on your life last night.”

Blood ran cold in Aymeric’s veins. “ _ What? _ ”

“The manor was infiltrated with the objective of assassinating you in your sleep,” Handeloup explained. “The suspects- pardon, the  _ culprits _ \- turned themselves in, thoroughly shaken by what they faced. Do rest assured, they will be duly sentenced once their injuries have been tended to.” 

“Injuries?” Aymeric queried, and he could feel the amusement creep back into Handeloup’s breath. “Did the stewards put up so much- goodness, did the stewards suffer injuries? Or were these people dim enough to fall down stairs or slipped on the roof?”

“As far as I know, my friend, the staff of your manor only suffered an interruption in their nightly sleep. Also, you are under suspicion for housing voidsent in your manor.”

“ _ Voidsent?! _ ” This got more and more curious every turn the discussion took.

“You heard right,  _ voidsent.”   _ Handeloup was night giggling. “Pray do forgive me, this is a serious matter and I will assess it seriously- an ‘unholy, screeching demon’ flew at them from the darkness, and mauled their faces quite gruesomely. Though by the claw marks I saw, I dare say this  _ voidsent  _ is… someone we both know quite well.”

Aymeric broke into laughter as he relaxed after the fright, and Handeloup continued, “will you be home if I and a couple of knights, mayhap a scholar as well, come have a look and confirm the voidsent in question is of the feline sort?”

“I can arrange that- I have no desire to stay suspected of any crime a moment longer than I must. And- you are welcome anytime, my friend.”

Handeloup’s smile was audible through the linkpearl. “I will see you then, my friend. Oh- there is another matter that must be brought into your attention.” Handeloup  _ chortled _ and immediately apologized when his breath was regathered.

“See, one who saves the life of a noble so fearlessly, they are oft knighted to honor their deeds…”

“You mean to say that--”

“The people of Ishgard may not be convinced of the seriousness of the political reforms, if among the first things the head of the House of Lords does in his position is _ knight his cat. _ ”

 

\---

 

They at least tried to be serious at it, the three of them, but the smiles and headshakes of disbelief colored the entire ceremony. For this reason, they had elected not to invite any audience. Handeloup was dressed in his full armor and chosen to wear the helmet as well, as he held the pillow atop which the scruffy, scarred cat laid, at arm’s length. Lucia read the creed and vows, Aymeric responded in lieu of the cat, in the manner acceptance was signified when the knighted was for one reason or another incapable of speech. 

As soon as  _ Ser _ Mandragora de Borel was bequeathed its new title, it hopped off the pillow, walked into the central aisle of the Vault, and promptly flopped over to lick its hindquarters clean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lorebook's character bio blurb revealed that Aymeric has an old, cantankerous cat in his manor, and I and Sorin went off exchanging headcanons on the particular felis coeurl domesticus. As a result, it was knighted.


	8. Twelve degrees warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Would the dragoon still want to read the inquisitor a bedtime story, and would the inquisitor still feel safe falling asleep when held close?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A drabble inspired by Golbez's AU that involved a bout of the three mages accidentally getting turned into children- and getting to enjoy another short bout of childhood. Some bonds forged during that time still pull strong after the spell wears off.

    Ignasse closed his book, set it on the bedside table, and turned the flame in his lantern down to the smallest flicker. He knew these exploits of Saint Valeroyant by heart and could have recited the book backwards in his sleep, so resting his eyes on the pages at bedtime provided mostly a way to stay awake a bit longer. Maybe a fortnight had been long enough to form a habit, he mused on how strange it felt to be trying to fall asleep without the little sparkling curled up against him under the covers.

The age-diminishing spell that had affected the three mages had finally worn out in the early afternoon, mayhap to their brother knights’ disappointment. Charibert was been back to his usual self, donning flawless lip gloss while catching up reading the inquisition’s paperwork from the past weeks- allegedly the only thing keeping him from going out to purge heretics himself was feeling weak in the spell’s aftermath. Haumeric rested in the library, Noudenet attempted to replenish his energies with a hearty meal. Quietly, temporary accommodations were dismantled and disposed of. Yet Ignasse could not abandon the flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, a little piece of Charibert’s child’s heart remained.

And so, approximately half a bell after what had been a responsible bedtime for children, Ignasse heard light footsteps in the corridor, and as they came to a stop, saw a shadow in the light under his door.

 

Charibert raised his hand towards the door handle, but stopped mid-motion. He had indeed come to the twelfth bedchamber’s door out of habit he’d formed in a fortnight. Washed his face, brushed his teeth, slipped into a lighter robe of softer weave- and a pair of pants as well, as the robe in question now barely reached his hip- and headed down the corridor. And now that he was there, he questioned what he exactly sought from there- and how unfitting he felt it was for him.

He’d built up his walls and defended them with a sharp tongue and hellfire since the youth he had so carefully shut away from memories, and then Noudenet’s little accident had reduced him to live a piece of that again. Weak, frail, helpless- and stripped of the mental restraint that kept him from requesting fulfilment for a burning need for affection. And Fury be merciful, had it been fulfilled.

When he’d watched Haumeric and Noudenet doze off on ser Grinnaux’s broad chest side by side and made ready to shirk away, Paulecrain had caught him unawares and easily picked him up just to place him next to his mage brothers. And when strong arms locked the three of them in an embrace, for a moment before sleep claimed him, he had felt _wanted._ Shortly after he’d discovered Ignasse’s books had far more interesting stories, and so he’d spent a lot of his short second go at childhood with the dragoon.

But now he hesitated. Would the dragoon still want to read the inquisitor a bedtime story, and would the inquisitor still feel safe falling asleep when held close?

 

“Come on in.”

 

    And as prompted from behind the door, Charibert entered the twelfth bedchamber, closing the door behind him quietly. The low flame in the lantern allowed him to see Ignasse was in his bed, in a half-sitting position, scooted closer to the far edge. Holding the covers open. Smiling, warmly.

    “I hoped you would come.”

Charibert stood before the bed, looking down at the spot Ignasse was offering him. The open honesty. The warmth.

“I’m not sure why I did.”

“The same reason you have for the past fortnight, I’d wager.”

Charibert’s eyes narrowed. “And might the reason you hope and invite me in your bed still be the same as the past fortnight?”

Ignasse nodded firmly. “The very same. Alas, the book’s closed for tonight, so you will have to sleep without a story to lull you.” He gestured at the open spot. “Now, come on in, before it gets cold.”

    Closing his eyes, Charibert sighed and ducked in. He laid on his side, facing Ignasse, and when the dragoon closed the covers around him he pulled him close. The sheet was cool to touch at first, and it made the warmth pooled around Ignasse that much sweeter; when Charibert’s toes brushed against Ignasse’s ankles it crossed him how cold the floor had been. It also served a reminder how much taller he was now in comparison, but Ignasse’s arm reached around him with similar ease as before. The sound of his breathing, the rhythm of his heartbeat just the same. His warmth just the same.

    “I think I came for the same reason,” he murmured. “Ignasse.”

“Mm. Charibert.” The dragoon looked down to see inquisitor staring at him from where he was firmly tucked against his chest, the piercing look never quite leaving his white eyes.

“I suspected it wouldn’t be quite the same now, now that I’m back to... being me, again.”  
A poor choice of words, he thought immediately after letting them out- he had, of course, been _himself_ all the time. Still, it was not what he’d allowed anyone else to see of him before, and there was no shortcut back.

“I can’t see why it shouldn’t be.”

“I trust you won’t speak of this.”

 _Trust_ was a word Ignasse knew Charibert was very careful in using, particularly when it involved putting it to others.  
“I will not, and whatever our brothers might piece together by themselves will not leave our order.” A similarly kept secret to the entire spell that had mixed things up for those past weeks. Ignasse could feel Charibert relax and sink into the bedding.

“Goodnight, Ignasse.”

“Goodnight.” Ignasse leant in and kissed Charibert goodnight- a small, chaste peck on the brow- and more felt than saw him smile. Just a little.

“A shame I missed a part of the story, though…”

Ignasse’s smile had a bit of low hum to it as he closed his eyes and finally rested his head properly on the pillows. “I’ll read it to you tomorrow night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also, no, I'm not participating in any November writing challenges; this just exists on its own.


End file.
